Mein Schatz
by Gabriel Kishien
Summary: A take on Hugo Stiglitz's past and what drove him to the edges of sanity. And it all started with a girl from Prussia. Rating for language both now and possibly in the future. First fic so please R
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fic so please read and review. I welcome comments and critiques. Disclaimer: I do not own the Inglorious Basterds or the rights to the movie. I'm simply a fan. Thank you!

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Aldo Raine surveyed the wooded area with a slight frown and a tilt of his eyebrow. Winters were hard. Added on top was the fact they had no family, no home, and had to be on constant lokout…well, it was fucked up no matter which way you sliced it. The wind kicked up and nudged him out of his trance, reminding him he had come out here to pee and he should probably hurry up.

Currently, he and the Basterds were huddled down in a dilapidated stone house. More of a shack, really. When they surveyed the area it looked like it have been some sort of farm, an ancient one, but the woods had reclaimed all but the six foot high walls. They were far enough away from any town or village and decided to bed down here at least through Christmas and the New Year. The original roof and door were long gone and with some stolen tools, the Basterds constructed a rough roof and door and covered the single window. Surprisingly, even with most of them having no building experience, it was quite sound.

Aldo could see Kagan and Omar making their rounds through the trees. One could never be too careful. Besides, with all of them and their provisions, the shack was an extremely tight fit. The fresh gust of wind brought the smell of snow and Aldo quickly finished his business and pushed open the rough door of the shed.

"Close the fucking door," Donny said. The Basterds had dug a small fire pit in the middle of the dirt floor and had arranged their bedrolls around it. Even Stiglitz, who normally would sleep separate from the others, was huddled around the fire, next to Wicki with Utivich on his other side. Aldo's roll was in between Wicki and Donny and after propping the door shut with Donny's bat, he slid back into his spot and held his hands out to the tiny fire. Donny handed him a bottle of whiskey they had been passing around for the last hour. He took a nip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the bottle to Wicki.

It was Christmas Day and pointedly they were trying not to talk about families, but an occasional silence would slip in. Kagan and Omar were relieved by Hirschberg and Zimmerman. The whiskey continued to circle as they shared stories and talked about meaningless things. The conversation drifted towards women, as it often does with men who've had a little too much to drink. Donny started regaling them with a story that involved him, a rather loose woman, and the bleachers at a Red Sox game. The others started to one-up each other until the tales grew to fantastic to believe.

One person contributed nothing to the conversation: Hugo Stiglitz. Sometimes there would be a slight chuckle, but he didn't offer any stories. He only seemed to be a part of the group when they were killing Nazis. He seemed to come alive: he would taunt, laugh and joke with them. But once it was all said and done, he retreated into himself. Even Wicki, who was more of the reserved one in the group, had a few stories to tell.

"So, what about you, Stiglitz? I know you've probably had tons of women. They all love the strong, silent type," Donny said. The others tensed. They were all wary of Stiglitz and pointedly avoided getting to close. Utivich seemed very nervous to be sitting next to him and was trying to be as far away as possible. Donny, however, didn't care. He would clap the German on the shoulder after a particularly good round of Nazi killing, always tried to include him in the conversation. He'd even try to get the man riled up. Stiglitz never really responded and didn't get enraged at the tries, but it never stopped Donny.

Stiglitz had the whiskey bottle and took a deep gulp. "I only had one woman."

The shock that went through the group was so evident Aldo could taste it in the back of his throat. They stared open-mouthed at Stiglitz.

"Was she nice?" Donny asked, thrown for a loop. He hadn't expected him to respond. "Ah, that was probably a stupid question. I'm sure she was, huh?"

"She was my wife."

Stiglitz could not have surprised them more if he announced he was from the moon or Franklin-fucking-Roosevelt at that point. Aldo reached over and snatched the whiskey from Omar and took a gulp and handed it directly to Stiglitz. The thought of Stiglitz having a wife being…well, being as psychotic as he was, was a hard thing to imagine.

"Where was she from?" Wicki asked.

"Prussia. Her mother was Austrian, like you. Her father, Prussian. She was born in Konigsberg."

There was a very long and very uncomfortable silence. Everyone wanted to know about this woman but they didn't want to push him. Also, he spoke of her in the past tense. And that was never a good thing. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a creased photograph and shifted his knife. When they rescued him from that prison, he had been insistent on getting his effects: particularly his knife and a pouch that would hang from a belt. He hesitated, sighed and then passed the picture to Wicki. Wicki looked at it and then passed it along.

The black and white photograph depicted a woman, perhaps seventeen years old, with dark hair and large dark eyes. She was fashionably dressed and sitting at a table laden with food. Her smile was wide and even in the picture: genuine. And she was beautiful. Donny let out a low whistle when he saw. When the picture came back into Stiglitz's hands, he tucked it back into his pocket. Taking another gulp of whiskey and with night approaching the tiny shack he started to talk.


	2. Chapter 2

I want to say thank you to the overwhelming positive responses I got to my first chapter of my first fan fic! :) It really touched me and I hope this and my future chapters live up to everyone's expectations. Again, I welcome comments and critiques. I'm a tough critic, especially to myself. Please let me know what you think, no matter what. To explain the title: "Schatz" is a term of endearment in German. Like "Honey" or "Darling". Growing up, we always heard my Oma ("grandma"...who is also Prussian!) call my grandpa that. We thought it was his name! As we got older, we continued calling him that as it just fit him. He was so tickled at his grandkids and great-grandkids calling him Schatz. When thinking of a title, I could remember the happiness on his face when we called him that and I knew this could be the only title!

So enjoy! Again: I don't own anything Basterds-related. I only own my characters.

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Hugo Stiglitz was an unlucky child. His father, Albert, was in the military and was killed under mysterious circumstances when he was young. His mother, Lisbeth, was frail and sickly. Hugo inherited the worst traits from his parents. From his father he was overly proud and stubborn. He also had his father's attitude problem. From his mother's side he inherited her family's disposition for melancholy and broodiness. It made him a very unpredictable child. His smile wasn't much, either. His smile, even as a small boy, could only be described as calculated and lacking true warmth. Whenever someone asked his mother to describe him she would say he was "cold-hearted with the ice blue eyes to match."

Despite everything, he loved his mother. She would plead with him to be a "good boy" and he would try, but often his anger would get the better of him. He would trudge to see her, always hating the disappointment in her washed out blue eyes. She would hold out her pale, thin arms to him and hug him.

"Promise to be better," she would say.

"I'll try, Mama," would always be his reply.

Lisbeth would pass away on Christmas Eve when he was 10. Hugo hardly remembered the events that took place shortly thereafter. None of his relatives wanted such a surly and unpredictable child and was thus shipped off to an orphanage. He was alone and miserable and avoided by the other children. He studied hard and spent much of his time in the orphanage school's library, reading every book he could. Finally, when he was 13, his mother's eldest sister, Gertrude, stepped in to take him.

Tante Gertrude was the opposite of her sister. She was healthy and buxom without a motherly bone in her body. She and her husband, Walter, neither had or wanted children. On the day she picked him up, Gertrude told him quite frankly she wanted him to work in her shop without pay. She and Walter were weavers, cloth makers and supplied nearly all the tailors and uniform makers with cloth in Frankfurt. Gertrude was also nearly unmatched in lace making. Hugo was to be their errand and delivery boy. It left no time for school and he studied on his own at night. Something Walter scoffed at.

They weren't exceptionally cruel to him. Nonetheless, Hugo got into a good many fights with other boys (some much bigger than he). Walter would use his belt to try and teach him a lesson. But for the most part, they barked orders at him at the shop and pretended he didn't exist when they were home. Hugo almost preferred the beatings to the way they looked right through him.

When he was 15, everything changed. It was the first real warm day of spring and he was in the shop arranging large bolts of cloth to be delivered to a tailor across town. Gertrude was at her little station working on a new lace pattern. The door opened and he looked up at three women bursting in and asking to look at lace. One was clearly the mother: a kindly looking woman with hair so dark a brown that it looked black. Her eyes were deep brown with a few wrinkles at the corners. She was plump without being fat. The second was a woman of perhaps 20 or 21 who looked a lot like her mother except with lighter brown hair on the mousey side and hazel eyes. She was rail thin and the graceful curve to her nose saved her from being all together plain. The youngest was his age with the same dark hair and eyes like her mother. Her hair was full and wavy and a perky body that had just crossed the threshold from girlhood into being a full woman. She didn't have the regal nose like her mother and sister. Her nose was too button and impish and could only be considered as "cute".

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He could only stare at her as they looked over patterns. It appeared the older daughter was getting married. After some time, she looked over at him and smiled. Her teeth were very white and a little too large. She walked over to him. She was practically buzzing with restless energy and a wave of cheerfulness rolled off her and washed over him.

"Hello. My name is Minna. Do you work here?" she asked. By her accent, he could tell she wasn't from Frankfurt. Prussia perhaps?

He nodded. "My aunt and uncle own this shop."

"My sister, Edith, is getting married," she said, wrinkling her nose and rolling her eyes. "Mama and Papa are so excited. Edith and Johan are moving to America after the wedding."

Hugo couldn't think of anything to say. He continued staring at the bolts of cloth in front of him.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He looked up. She was looking at him very expectantly. "Hugo…" he finally mumbled.

She smiled. It made her eyes sparkle. She would get those same little crinkles like her mother when she was older. "Hugo. That's a nice name."

"What are you doing, Minna?" asked her mother, coming up next to her. Edith and Gertrude were still discussing lace patterns.

"This is Hugo, Mama. His tante is Mrs. Hertz," Minna said.

"Hello, Hugo. My name is Louisa Freiwald. I hope Minna wasn't bothering you," she said.

"N-No, ma'am," he said.

"As such, come along, Minna. I believe Edith is nearly done. We should get going."

"I'll be right over, Mama." She looked back at Hugo. "Do you go to school?" He shook his head. "Do you have time off sometimes?" He nodded. "You don't say much, huh? Well, we just moved here, so maybe we can be friends? I don't have any friends here yet."

"Minna!" her mother called. She was standing at the door, fixing her hat and putting on her gloves. Edith was already outside.

"All right. Bye, Hugo!" she said, smiling and waving.

Gertrude came over when they had left. She had a very rare smile on her face. "That little one is full of life. Talkative too. What did she say?"

"They just moved here and she had no friends yet," Hugo said, gathering everything to make his delivery. He could only assume they had made a large purchase for his aunt to be in such a good mood. He didn't stay around and hurried out the door. As he hurried to his delivery, he walked lightly and even whistled a little.

He had found the girl of his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this took forever. I've been plagued with elusive muses.

Please read and review. I'm working on the next chapter and hopefully will have it out as soon as I can. As always, I do not own any of the Basterds. Just my own characters. Enjoy.

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"It's the cloth makers' slave!"

Hugo, having dropped off the bolts of cloth, tensed at the very familiar voice. His hands slowly curled into fists, his short nails dug into his palms. He turned to look at the pinched face boy flanked by two others. "Leopold."

Hugo hated Leopold Bauer with a passion that very nearly bordered on deranged. He and Leopold practically grew up together. Both of their fathers were in the military together: officers. From what Hugo remembered his mother telling him, their fathers were friends. Leopold's family was from old money: nobility. He was also a spoiled bully and had always been one. He lorded himself over all the children they knew and since Hugo wouldn't act as his inferior, he took a base pleasure in insulting Hugo's family.

Hugo snapped once. It was before his mother died, when he was about 9. Leopold told him his father was a drunkard. He also pointed out how he had a long line of officers in his family where Hugo had none. Hugo tried to ignore him until Leopold said the unthinkable.

"_You know what I heard? Some officers came by our house and I overheard them. They say your mother is a whore. That she's got some kind of disease."_

Hugo punched Leopold in the stomach and got sent home. He was suspended for two weeks. Lisbeth asked him repeatedly what Leopold said, but Hugo could never tell her. And Hugo's melancholy drove Lisbeth into a deep depression. She never brought the subject up again until right before she died.

"_I'm not going to ask what Leopold said to you a long time ago. But you are just like your father: full of pride. You take things too seriously, my son. Whatever Leopold said to you doesn't matter. They are just words."_

"_But, Mama…"_

"_Quiet, my boy. I'm not always going to be around to protect you. So try to learn to let go of that pride."_

Five years after her death, Hugo reflected, he still couldn't let go. He was, as everyone ever told him, just like his father. After Lisbeth died, Leopold got worse in his merciless teasing. He enjoyed calling Hugo an orphan and asking him about his time in the orphanage. He enjoyed making fun of his status in Walter and Gertrude's home. Hugo, trying to be mindful of his mother's last words to him, tried to let the taunts roll off him. But he hadn't touched Leopold since that one day when punched Leopold when they were 9.

"I'm not their slave," Hugo said. He felt anger…rage. There was a hot sensation developing behind his eyes.

"Let's see…you live with him and you work for them for no money…isn't that a definition of a slave?" Leopold asked. The two boys who flanked him laughed.

Hugo focused on the boys. They were large and exactly alike. Twins, in fact. Otto and Karl Schiller. The last time Walter had beat Hugo with his belt was because Hugo beat Otto. "Your nose has healed," he remarked in an off-handed way. Otto immediately stopped laughing.

"Watch yourself," Leopold said.

"Or what? You'll get Otto and Karl to beat me up? Can't do it yourself?" Hugo said, taking a step forward.

"I would but our _mothers _want us home for supper. Bet you miss that, huh?" Leopold said, turning and walking away.

Hugo stood there a moment, fuming. He relaxed his hands and inspected his palms. Sure enough: there were dark red marks there. He sighed.

"Hugo, right?"

His head shot up. Minna was standing in front of him. She wasn't wearing her dress anymore and now wore trousers, blouse, and a light jacket. Her hair hung free and she was carrying a basket filled with vegetables. "M-Minna. Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? Who was that boy? A friend of yours?"

"No."

She raised an eyebrow. "All right."

They stood there for a moment. Hugo forced himself to speak: "Do you live around here?"

She gestured behind him. "Sort of. Do you know the metal factory?"

Of course he knew it. It had been in Frankfurt a long time. It used to be a very traditional blacksmith's. They still crafted the swords and knives used in the military but they could make most things that could be made in metal. Just as Walter and Gertrude's shop was the best for cloth, the Schmidt Factory was the best for metalworks.

She shifted her basket. "My father's brother-in-law runs it. But he's really sick. Papa ran on in Prussia, but Onkel Jurgen asked Papa to run this one. We are staying with him in the house near the factory. Edith and I have to share a room. But it's only going to be for a little while," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I like the shop. Papa is teaching me about everything."

"A girl running a metal works factory?"

"Why not?" she retorted, tossing her hair. She smiled. "Well, I have to get these home to Mama. Goodbye, Hugo."

"Bye." He watched her leave, the lightness of her visit fading with her retreating steps. Leopold flashed through his mind and he felt the anger return. He stormed back to the shop to find his aunt closing up.

"You're late," she snapped. Hugo looked at her and Gertrude took a step back. "Go home. I'll finish here." Hugo turned around and left.

Gertrude watched her nephew's back. He was getting tall. Pretty soon, she and Walter wouldn't be able to control him. He was just like his father in every way and Gertrude had an awful feeling they might have made a mistake in bringing him to their home. He was too unpredictable. The madness that drove her and Lisbeth's mother to commit suicide (not to mention the countless others in her family) had taken a very strange turn in Hugo. And Lisbeth…

Gertrude shook her head. Perhaps they would have to lay off the beatings and give him some freedom. She told Walter as much later that night.

"I think we should let Hugo off his duties around the shop once in a while. And perhaps we should start paying him a wage." She watched her husband's reaction very carefully.

He scowled. "Why should I pay him a wage? He has got a roof over his head and we feed him. And we're busy. I need him there. And besides, I'm certain he'll get into trouble if I don't watch him. Remember that incident with the Schiller boy?"

Gertrude sighed. "I know. He is so very much like Albert. I'm just thinking along with that and the…unfortunate disposition he inherited from Lisbeth…I was just thinking that perhaps some time off and some money would…improve his character a bit."

Walter eyed his wife. "Oh, all right. Do what you think is appropriate. I still expect his first priority to be his duties at the shop. Make sure he knows it."


End file.
